January 22nd was the day when lies and apathy could no longer hold down the truth. Overnight, news broke out that the number of confirmed and suspected Coronavirus cases had been vastly underreported, that it had spread far and beyond due to inaction and censorship, and that the medical system could no longer hold its fort.
Stories came out everywhere, of doctors and nurses working unprotected due to lack of supply, of families running out of food due to city lockdown. Photos came out of hospital hallways filled with sick people, all undiagnosed and untreated. “They kneeled before me, begging me to save them,” a doctor said, “but all I could do was cry. We don’t have anything anymore.”
It was impossible to escape these stories. I maintain a steady presence on one of the Chinese social media sites, Douban, which has a relatively large student/academic userbase. As I’m not on any of the other more mainstream SNSs (e.g. Weibo), Douban is my only source of Chinese local news. I check it multiple times a day.
And every time I checked it, I saw more emergencies. Hospital ran out of protective gear, then diagnostic apparatus, then food. First, Wuhan’s major hospitals called for help; soon, less funded hospitals in surrounding areas did, too.
Like many other Chinese people I know, I, almost out of an instinct for self-preservation, started to avoid the news. I didn’t read anything about the virus or watch any videos.
I was locked in a haze for two days. I tried not to think about it, but I was distracted and restless. I couldn’t get any work done. I couldn’t even hold a conversation. I was irritated most of the time. I didn’t know what was wrong with me or even whether there was anything wrong at all. I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. The living hell that existed on the internet seemed so far away from my normal daily life.
Two days after the initial burst of cries for help, citizens began to mobilize. A number of grassroots efforts were formed. Existing social networks online and offline began to discuss the logistics of donations. As the city entered into full lockdown, it became clear that individual, small-scale donations were inefficient. Social media posts came out looking for people with professional connections in medical supply trading and transportation. People with personal connections to hospital personnel regularly updated the state of shortage in the frontline.
The initial state of chaos, panic, and despair translated into action. By January 24th, my Douban feed was dominated by the logistics of action.
Trucks full of supplies are looking for drivers. Organizations with monetary donations are looking for suppliers. Distribution centers are set up.
Scientists are searching for the latest research on the virus and translating paper abstracts into Chinese. A crowdsourced document was started to keep track of all the information. It had volunteer editors from all over the world to ensure 24-7 monitoring.
People with medical training continue to explain best practices and debunk superstition. Guides are published online that synthesize and update recommended practices and dispell rumours.
I saw a Douban post of a team of scientists finding a lead on the virus but was shorthanded. They were looking for qualified researchers to help out. Half an hour later, they explained that they had already found a collaboration.
A number of hotels in Wuhan provided free stay to doctors and nurses. A number of small restaurants started to provide free food and delivery to hospitals. One of China’s delivery companies offered to transport supplies into the city; they promised their trucks will be fully disinfected and the drivers properly protected. Mental health professionals formed an online chat group to provide free phone counseling to frontline doctors and nurses.
Someone from outside of Wuhan offered their home to Wuhan citizens who had fled the city before lockdown, as no hotel would accept them. “If you have nowhere to go,” they explained, “please consider coming to stay with me. I’m not a medical professional, but I can quarantine you in my home and provide you with shelter and food.”
By January 24th, a number of international donation efforts had also been started. There was healthy skepticism concerning whether international medical supplies would be able to pass customs, and the organizers patiently explained their plans. I decided to make donations to the Wuhan University New York Alumni Association and the Berkeley Chinese Student and Scholars Association.
I felt a lot better. I reached out to another US-based Chinese academic I’ve met through Douban. “The last couple of days had been really hard,” she agreed with me.
I went back online. I had amassed some followers on Douban from posting about academia, and I decided to imitate other accounts with followers and help disseminate information.
It’s been a few days since the initial chaos, and the dialogue has been evolving fast. As impressive as the spontaneous self-organization of citizens may be, it remains frustrating that we are fighting not only the epidemic but also the government. The latest skirmish is that the Chinese Red Cross had held some supplies hostage until a “process fee” was paid.
A few users I follow have burnt out. There have been more calls for self-care.
“Record your story; the world will want to hear it,” someone had started a Douban list of lockdown-time stories. “In the face of disasters, at least we can still write.”
A feminist activist who lives alone in Wuhan has been doing just that.
“I’ve been counting my food supply, although that shouldn’t be necessary — I have at least a month’s worth of food.” She writes. “Anxiety is the biggest enemy. I force myself to leave my apartment every day just so I don’t feel as trapped. I can feel like I’m doing something.”
In the face of disasters, at least we can still write.
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